


Green & Gold

by Stormbutterfly



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Het Relationship, Eventual Romance, F/M, Pre-Canon, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4834994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormbutterfly/pseuds/Stormbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas comes to the Inquisition bearing an ancient secret, but he is not the only one. The strange Dalish girl who falls from the Fade with a glowing green mark seared into her palm, carries secrets older still.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An End and a Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This story is AU and completely ignores Trespasser—I’m actively trying to block out that particular DLC. Most of the events will follow the canon story line, but there will be alterations made and the divergence from canon will increase as the story progresses. Rating may increase in the future. Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks to everyone who has left Kudos and Comments. It means the world to me. 
> 
> The use of bolded italics inside of quotation marks indicates that the entirety of what is said is spoken in a language other than the common tongue and has been translated. This language will be ancient Elvhen unless otherwise specified.   
> Dragon Age and all of its splendors belong to Bioware. I gain no financial benefit from this time-consuming hobby.
> 
> The Elvhen terms used in the story come from a mixture of sources including my own fevered imagination. Thanks to FenxShiral’s Project Elvhen for increased Elvhen terminology and improving my understanding of the Elvhen language. Translations of all Elvhen terms at will normally be at the bottom, but are included here due to AO3 not allowing chapter notes to be posted at the end of the first chapter.
> 
> Elvhen Terminology
> 
> Da’len : Literally means “little person” or “little one.” Used to mean “child.”
> 
> Hahren : Respected elder.
> 
> Tel’abelas : I am not (sorry/full of sorrow).
> 
> Ir abelas : I am (sorry/full of sorrow).
> 
> Ma vah da’len : My (dear/precious) child. Term of endearment normally used for a younger family member or an especially prized student.
> 
> Ar lath ma : I love you.
> 
> Lin ma lin : Blood of my blood. An uncommon archaic term normally reserved for an ancestor or descendant further removed than grandchild/grandparent. The term has special meaning for the Seers and potential Seers of Clan Lavellan who use it as a more general familial endearment due to their supposedly divine bloodline.
> 
> Dareth shiral : Safe journey. Used as a farewell.
> 
> Andrava is the forgotten elvhen goddess of wisdom, intuition, and perception. She was the twin sister of Andruil and the daughter of Mythal and Elgar’nan. Clan Lavellan has long believed that the Seers are the mortal descendants of Andrava, but have kept these beliefs, and the Seers themselves, hidden from other clans.

 

            The Seer was dying. Keeper Deshanna had known it was coming and had dreaded this day since the old woman had warned her half a dozen moons before. The Keeper remembered that moment well and, she suspected, would for all of her days.

            _“I will not see summer again, da’len.” Seer Nadahla’s voice was soft, but unwavering._

_Deshanna shook her head in denial. She had heard too many elders express similar sentiments when the fall winds promised a harsh winter. “Don’t speak such things, hahren! You aren’t one to be of darkling thoughts.”_

_The old woman reached out with startling speed and seized Deshanna’s chin. The Keeper’s face was turned gently to face her elder. The Seer was the eldest of Clan Lavellan, older than any elf should be, preserved by her power. She wore her years with grace and her lined face was still lovely. Nadahla smiled softly as Deshanna finally met her gaze. “Tel’abelas, da’len. It is time. I have carried the weight of it for long enough. She is ready. She will bear it better than I ever did.”_

_Deshanna felt the tears threatening to fall and blinked them away. “You have Seen this?” she asked. Nadahla smiled again and tilted her head in agreement. Deshanna nodded. She was too wise to deny the old woman’s power. “You know which of them will receive the Sight.” It was not a question. Deshanna had always assumed that Nadahla knew. Her daughters were all long dead, but her granddaughters carried the potential as did her great-granddaughters. Their heritage marked the pale skin around their eyes with swirls of shimmering white. More texture than color. Like tracings of frost on alabaster._

_“Anaya,”Nadahla whispered. “The Sight already moves to claim her. All will see the signs soon enough.”_

Anaya was the youngest of Nadahla’s great-granddaughters and Deshanna had always considered her to be the most gifted. The girl’s magic had come to her when she was little more than a babe, tiny hands tracing the lines carved into an old wooden chest and filling them with frost. Even then she had been unusual—too controlled for a child. In all other ways, she was a younger copy of her cousins: emerald-eyed and fair beneath her ghostly markings, molten copper tresses streaming behind her in the mountain wind. 

            Clan Lavellan moved north, deep into the eastern end of the Vimmark Mountains. Only a fool of a Keeper would choose such a direction in winter, but with Nadahla dying, there was no choice. Nadahla led them ever higher, far past the hills familiar to the clan. From the beginning, the trip was too easy and game too plentiful. Snow fell all around them, but not on them. The path knew them, it seemed.

            Anaya’s thirteenth winter passed and the signs came as promised. Her once-emerald eyes shifted in hue to match those of her great-grandmother. When Deshanna looked at the girl, strange feline eyes stared back at her. They were iridescent green-gold with streaks of copper arcing through like lightning in a forest. Deshanna had found such eyes comforting in the past, but those ancient eyes were haunting and unfamiliar on Anaya’s young face.

            When spring first kissed the land, Nadahla’s strength waned. Anaya took her place, guiding them without error along hidden paths she’d never before walked. As spring shook off the final grip of winter, they reached their destination. Andrava’s Repose, the ancestors had called it: a hidden ruin in the heart of a mountain. The small vale that led to its entrance seemed enchanted and dreamlike. Lazy fish swam in the winding river at the vale’s heart: bright-scaled things not even the elders found familiar. Fruit hung heavy from branches that should have borne none until high summer. Healing herbs bloomed that were unknown in the mountains. “It is safe,” Anaya promised them. “Take what is needed.”

            A few young hunters asked why the clan didn’t stay here always. The vale was a window into paradise. Anaya just laughed and shook her head. “It isn’t safe always,” she explained, “only when it’s required.” Her feline eyes sparkled with amusement at their wonder, but she did not offer to explain.   

            The morning after their arrival, Nadahla was truly dying. The entire clan came one by one to pay respect to the old Seer and to thank her for her guidance. Nadahla acknowledged their words with gentle smiles and murmured assurances. The clan whispered their sorrow to the family gathered around her. Her descendants wept quietly, too reverent to disrupt their matriarch’s dignity even in their time of mourning. Until the sun set over the mountains, the hours were an echoing symphony of regret. _Ir abelas. Ir abelas. Ir abelas._

            Only two figures were by Nadahla’s side as the twin moons rose above Clan Lavellan. She had sent the rest away. Deshanna, as Keeper, watched the elder she’d revered for all of her days in silence. She was there to remember, not to intrude. Anaya sat at her great-grandmother’s side. Her green-gold eyes glowed with fledgling power. _Eyes that belonged on no mortal face,_ Deshanna thought. _Or at least not on that of a mortal who walked on two legs instead of four._

            “This is yours now,” Nadahla’s voice was strong as she passed her heir the secret treasure of Clan Lavellan. Andrava’s Crown legend called it, the Seer’s Crown. The flowing lines of swirling silvery metal reminded Deshanna of willow branches. At its center set an oblong stone that was no color and yet all of them. At rest, it was a colorless window to the metal beneath, but with every movement, bursts of color rippled across its surface—teal and violet, emerald and indigo, fuchsia and cobalt. It hummed with power as Anaya’s trembling hands accepted it. The girl bowed her head in respect before she returned her gaze to her great-grandmother.

            “Remember, da’len,” Nadahla whispered. “Remember that it is a burden as much as a blessing. Until you pass it to your own heir, or you leave this life, it is yours. It cannot be taken from you. Remember, it is not to be used lightly. When you don Andrava’s Crown, your Sight will reach into shadows mortals were never meant to know. Never forget that those shadows will see into you as well. In all my years, I’ve had to call on its power only once. You, ma vah da’len, will not be so fortunate. For that, ir abelas.”

            Anaya’s eyes glittered with unshed tears as she nodded to her great-grandmother. “I will remember,” she whispered. Anaya slipped the Crown into its embroidered silken pouch and Deshanna breathed easier as the ancient wards silenced the thrumming of its power.

            Nadahla smiled. “Above all else, remember this, Anaya: you are enough. Whatever comes, you are enough. You are here, in this time, because you were the one needed. Ar lath ma, ma vah da’len.” Nadahla’s eyes drifted closed and her breath stilled.

            Anaya took a ragged breath and freed her tears. “Ar lath ma, lin ma lin. Dareth shiral.”

            For a moment, Deshanna watched the grieving girl in silence. Anaya’s shoulders hunched in as tears streamed down her face. It was the sound that finally urged Deshanna to movement—a long, low keen that brought fresh tears to her own eyes and a gasp to her lips. Before Deshanna could reach her, the sound cut off without warning. Anaya raised her head and straightened. Her gaze turned to the Keeper. “Three days,” the Seer said. Her face was empty of emotion. “The clan will have that time to rest and gather supplies. Choose which hunters will carry her into the Repose at sunrise and prepare them. They may carry no weapons. As the sun rises on the third day, we must leave this place.”

            Deshanna nodded her understanding. “Of course, Seer.” She paused, hesitant. “Why such a brief time?”

            A smile quirked the edges of Anaya’s lips, her markings glittering in the moonlight. “Because after that, Clan Lavellan will no longer be welcome here.”  

 


	2. Andrava's Repose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is AU and completely ignores Trespasser—I’m actively trying to block out that particular DLC. Most of the events will follow the canon storyline, but there will be alterations made and the divergence from canon will increase as the story progresses. Rating may increase in the future. Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks to everyone who has left Kudos and Comments. It means the world to me. 
> 
> The Elvhen terms used in the story come from a mixture of sources including my own fevered imagination. Translations of all Elvhen terms at the bottom. Thanks to FenxShiral’s Project Elvhen for increased Elvhen terminology and improving my understanding of the Elvhen language.
> 
> The use of * inside of quotation marks indicates that the entirety of what is said is spoken in a language other than the common tongue and has been translated. This language will be ancient Elvhen unless otherwise specified. 
> 
> Dragon Age and all of its splendors belong to Bioware. I gain no financial benefit from this time-consuming hobby.

 

 

 

            Anya watched as her family gathered around the body. _If only I could join them_ , she thought. They would prepare the remains and dress the shell that had once been her great-grandmother as befitted the Seer’s station. In the past, Anaya would have worked beside them and taken comfort in their presence. Now, she was alone, separated by her unfortunate inheritance. She shook her head, trying to drive away the dark thoughts plaguing her. She knew that had to prepare herself. It was left to her to perform the rituals to lay Nadahla to rest and to placate the ancient spirits that awaited them in the Repose. Without their blessing, the Sight would break her. This truth was known by all of her bloodline. 

            Anaya went to the river to bathe before getting dressed. She stood alone in the cool water and tried to focus her mind on what she must do and the words she must say. Nadahla had trained her well, but the ritual was important and she felt the weight of her doubts settling over her. _What if I fail?_ her thoughts whispered. _What if the spirits don’t accept me?_ She made her way back to her family’s aravel as she dried herself, her mind still lost in questions. Once there, Anaya opened the chest containing the garments that the crafters had made in preparation of Nadahla’s passing. They were by far the finest she’d ever possessed. The light leather armor was a rich mahogany in color, accented with brilliant green and copper. The traditional green vest of the Seer went over the leathers. It was sleeveless and high collared, hanging to just above Anaya’s knees. The front was open and two copper chains crossed over her chest to hold front of the garment in place. _I’m a fraud_ , she thought. There she stood, dressed in clothing proper for the Seer with the Seer’s eyes peering out of her face, but she was just a girl. _I’m not wise! I don’t know how to do this. To be this. Andrava give me strength._ She blinked away her tears and began winding her still-damp hair into ornate braids. Her concerns didn’t matter. She was the Seer now. There was no one else. She had to be ready by dawn.

*DAI*DAI*DAI*

            When Deshanna arrived at the arched entrance of the Repose, Anaya was already waiting. The girl faced the archway, hands clasped behind her back. It was strange to see the ornate garb of the Seer on her slender form, but she wore it well, with pride and purpose in her stance. The Keeper held up a hand and heard Zelial, who was her First, and the hunters come to a halt behind her before she went to speak to Anaya.

            Anaya turned at her approach. The young Seer’s face was a mask of careful serenity, revealing nothing and everything. _Oh, you poor child._ Deshanna knew that expression well. She’d worn it for the first several years she had been Keeper. Her heart ached for the girl. _This is wrong,_ Deshanna thought. _She’s just a child! She should have the chance to be a child. She hasn’t even lived yet._ Deshanna knew that Nadahla had been a woman grown when the power came to her. She’d been happily bonded for many years and already had four children. She was as ready for the power as any could be. This was not the same. Not remotely.

            Anaya smiled softly and her eyes were sad for a moment before the mask settled back into place. Deshanna was certain then that some of her thoughts must have been painted across her face. Anaya knew and acknowledged the burden she carried silently, but Deshanna’s experience with the girl told her that Anaya would never do more than that.

            Anaya turned to address the party behind the Keeper. “After I open the doorway, you will follow me down into the Repose. There will be a platform where she will be laid.” Her gaze traveled to the hunters who carried her great-grandmother’s body. “Once you have placed her on the platform, you must leave. Do not return inside.” Deshanna heard their assents behind her. Anaya finally turned to face Deshanna. “You and the First are allowed to remain during the ritual. There will be a circle inlaid on the floor near the platform. You must remain inside of the circle while I appeal to the spirits. Take no action. Do not speak.”

            Deshanna nodded. “Yes, Seer. We will do as you command.”

            Anaya nodded once before turning away. She led them through the carved archway towards the Repose. Deshanna marveled at the scale of the place. The cavern itself was enormous and mostly unworked. Rough walls rose on either side before vanishing into darkness above. The stone path was lined with pedestals and veilfire burst into life above them as they entered. The ghostly light of dawn streamed through the archway, revealing the gardens beyond the path. Strange fountains dotted here and there filled the air with crystalline sprays of water. They looked unsculpted, as though they had simply grown in their places. Graceful willows stood further from the path and Deshanna saw tiny lights flicker through their branches. Flowers bloomed all around them casting heady perfumes. She recognized only a few species, most were unknown to her. _This is a wildling place_ , Deshanna thought. _It has never been tamed and never will be._ She wondered what it would be like to rest beside those fountains, to feel the mist of water in the warm air, to watch the jeweled dragonflies dance between the blooms, to sleep beneath a willow’s weeping branches.

            “Do not leave the path. The Veil is very thin here and many things slip through. Some of them are hungry. Only the pathway itself is protected.” Deshanna looked up, jerked from her thoughts to meet Anaya’s knowing gaze.

            Deshanna cleared her throat and wrestled her composure back into place. “Will the hunters be safe alone for the return trip?” she asked.

            Anaya nodded as she resumed her journey. “It calls only to mages. They won’t be affected. Treat this place as you would the Fade and focus on your purpose.”

            Deshanna heard Zelial take a deep breath behind her. _He must have been considering leaving the path as well. I will remain strong for both of us._ She focused with all her will on the stone beneath her feet and the sound of Zelial walking behind her until Anaya’s voice broke her from her reverie again. “We have arrived. I will open the doors.”

            The massive stone doors set into the wall were covered in runes and glyphs. A statute depicting an Elvhen woman stood on a pedestal before them. _Andrava_. The goddess’s image stood with her arms open in welcome; her face was tilted down to gaze upon them with a soft smile. The artistry was remarkable, as though it might come to life. The goddess had been carved in flowing robes with dragonflies etched to mimic embroidery along the hems. The Seer’s crown rested on her brow, a stone twin to the one Anaya now carried. Deshanna stared at the goddess’s face, at the shimmer of the markings around her eyes. She remembered then, remembered how the old Keeper had confessed to her when she was still his First, that he didn’t truly believe the Seers were descended from the goddess as legend claimed. She recalled him saying: _“How can a mortal be descended from a god? That’s only a story. They are simply Andrava’s chosen, priestesses that she favored with the gift of Sight and marked forever with her vallaslin.”_

            Deshanna stared into the goddess’s face and knew in her heart that he had been wrong. The face carved there could be that of Anaya as a woman grown and the smile the statue wore was that of a mother for her child, not that of a goddess for her faithful. Deshanna turned her gaze to the pedestal beneath the statue. A stone bowl sat at the goddess’s feet, flanked by two small, dragon-like creatures. Words in Elvhen were engraved beneath the bowl: _“ **Blood of my blood will unbar the way,** ”_

            Anaya pulled a dagger from her belt and raised her left hand above the bowl. She spoke in fluid Elvhen, “ ** _By right of blood, unbar the way,_** ” and drew the dagger deep across her palm. When her blood flowed into the waiting vessel, gold light spilled from it. The light poured upwards into Anaya’s hand and then to the door beyond them. The runes flared to life and the ancient doors moved back and parted to slide into the walls behind.

            Deshanna realized that she had stopped breathing at the sight and gasped. “Anaya! Your hand!” The cut had been deep. She couldn’t just ignore it. Anaya looked back at Deshanna and held up her unblemished palm for her Keeper’s inspection. Deshanna stared at it. There was no trace of a wound, not even a spot of blood. She looked at Anaya. “How?”

            The girl’s lips quirked into a smile. “The door demands my blood. Not my pain.” With that, she turned and led them inside.

*DAI*DAI*DAI*

            Anaya had cut far too deep. She’d known as soon as the blade parted her flesh. _“A quick, shallow cut,” Nadahla had told her. “You only need a few drops to fall.”_ But she had been nervous and she had gripped the blade too tightly. When the gold light flowed into her palm, she heard it whispering: _“ **Foolish child. How will you carry your burdens with only one hand? We don’t want your suffering.** ”_ When the light left her, the wound was gone, but her embarrassment remained. She hadn’t even gotten through the door and she’d already failed.

            _It doesn’t matter_ , she thought. _Just focus on the ritual. You can curse yourself later_. She hid her thoughts behind a smile and Deshanna was too distracted to notice. Anaya led them forward, down stairs that stretched into darkness.

            When she finally reached the bottom step, Anaya sighed in relief. She hadn’t expected the Repose to lie so deep within the mountain. Veilfire torches lit around her revealing a vast chamber. She saw a large circle inlaid in mosaic on the floor and beyond that an ornate stone platform. The corners had been carved into the bodies of dragonflies, their outstretched wings covering the sides. The hunters did not hesitate. They placed Nadahla’s body on the platform with care before bowing low to it. Then they turned, bowed to her, and departed without a word. She had not expected that. Of course, she’d instructed them to act exactly as they had. _Will I ever be worthy of such obedience?_ Anaya wondered.

            Anaya took a deep breath and forced her face into an expression of calm before turning to Deshanna and Zelial. They had already taken their places in the center of the inlaid circle. Deshanna looked reverent and kind while Zelial’s face showed as much anxiety as Anaya felt. “You must remain in the circle until the spirits depart and I release the wards. No matter what you see or hear, you must remain silent. Do you understand?” Anaya asked.

            They both nodded and Deshanna placed a comforting hand on her apprentice’s shoulder. Anaya held her own hand above the circle. “ _ **By blood, I command you to seal.**_ ” She spoke the ancient words and the wards pulsed with light. She looked up and gazed at the pair through a shimmering curtain of energy. With a bow of her head she turned back towards the platform. She choked back a sob as she faced the corpse of her great-grandmother. _You must remain strong_ , she told herself. _There will be time to mourn after this is over._ Anaya felt the tremor in her arms as she lifted them in supplication; she felt the cold weight in her stomach and the racing of her heart. Still, her voice was unwavering as she began the invocation. “ _ **By right of blood, I bring my predecessor to take her place at Andrava’s side. Seer Nadahla has earned her place amongst our honored dead. I stand ready to take on the mantle. I, Anaya, born of Andrava’s blood, I ask for the blessing of those who have gone before.**_ ”

            Anaya felt them drawing close, so many watchful whispers, murmurs she couldn’t understand. Shadowy forms gathered around the platform and examined the Seer’s remains. After a few moments, the whispers united and spoke as one: “ _ **We accept Seer Nadahla, our sister, into our number.**_ ” Nadahla’s body glowed, then vanished in burst of golden light. Anaya felt a weight lift from her. Her mentor was finally at peace.

            Her relief was short-lived. She fought back a surge of dread as the spirits turned their gaze to her. “ _ **You? A child? Surely you are not all that remains? What has befallen the bloodline?**_ ”

            Anaya drew back from them, from their outrage, from the glow of countless eyes boring into her. She couldn’t speak around the fear in her throat. _I’m not good enough. They’ll never accept me!_ Nadahla told her to expect some discomfort, a feeling of being weighed and measured. What she felt was pain, as though she were being pulled apart while the bits of her soul were examined. It stopped as suddenly as it began and Anaya fell to her knees. “ _ **Ah,**_ ” the whispers purred. “ _ **A Dreamer. We understand now. We have waited long for a Dreamer to take up the mantle.**_ ”

            A single, luminous form coalesced from the shadows: a woman crafted of gold and copper light with familiar green eyes. The woman smiled at Anaya and helped her to her feet. “ _ **I am Adora. I was the first Seer. We have waited a long time for you, little one. You shall receive the birthright.**_ ” Adora turned to face the Keeper and First still bound inside the circle. She dismissed the wards with a gesture before addressing them in the common tongue. “Your Seer will receive the birthright and the blessing of Andrava. She will return to you by dawn tomorrow. You may go.” Anaya could see in the Keeper’s eyes that Deshanna wanted to question, but she finally bowed her head and led Zelial out of the Repose. _Don’t leave me!_ Anaya begged them silently. She wanted to run after them, to escape this place and its spirits, but she held onto Adora’s promise that she would return to her clan and remained still.          

            Adora motioned for Anaya to follow her. She led the young Seer to the far side of the chamber. Adora pressed a glowing fingertip against one of the myriad dragonflies carved into the stone wall and its wings fluttered. A section of the wall near them swung inward and Adora guided the young Seer through into the corridor beyond. Anaya addressed the spirit, “ _ **Seer Nadahla never mentioned this birthright to me.**_ ”

            Adora nodded. “ ** _She would not have known of it. It is only is only to be bestowed when the new Seer is also a Dreamer in her own right._** ” Anaya opened her mouth to speak, but Adora cut her off. “ ** _Nadahla was only a Dreamer because the Sight granted her that power. She was not born a Dreamer. It is not the same. Your father’s blood has given you gifts beyond those Andrava bestowed upon her daughters_**.”

            _But my father is a hunter_ … Anaya’s confusion was quickly replaced by understanding. _Of course._ The man who raised her, who she called ‘Father’, was not her father by blood. Her mother’s first husband had been a mage and was lost before Anaya was born. Nadahla had mentioned him once, but it was clear that the Seer had not wished to speak of him and Anaya had asked no questions. She loved the gentle man who raised her and didn’t need or want another father.

            She was pulled from her thoughts when Adora turned a corner and opened the carved wooden door just past it. The room beyond the doorway was utilitarian, lacking the ornamentation of the rest of the Repose. A padded bench sat flush against the room’s central column. Anaya realized that the bench was designed to support the weight of a kneeling person. The column in front of it had handholds and bars to support the elbows. She couldn’t imagine why such a thing would be needed. A small table and a low stool sat beside it. Adora spoke behind her. “ ** _Your back will need to be bare in order for me to apply the markings._** ”

            Anaya turned to face her. “ ** _I don’t understand. Nadahla told be that none of the bloodline received the blood writing. That our skin rejects it._** ”

            Adora laughed. “ ** _No child. Not blood writing. The markings are for the birthright ritual. I must first place the glyph on your skin in ink before beginning._** ”

            Anaya didn’t understand, but she nodded and began to remove her garments, baring herself to the waist. “ ** _I’m going to grow a great deal this summer. Will it be a problem if that distorts the design?_** ”

            The spirit gathered items up from the shelves mounted along the wall while she replied. “ ** _Not at all, little one. The birthright is not a marking. It is power granted by the goddess. It will grow with you._** ” She sat a bottle of ink on the table along with several brushes. She stood back and gestured for Anaya to kneel on the bench. Anaya knelt, then raised her arms and grasped the handholds as Adora settled on the stool behind her. _She’s very physical for a spirit_ , Anaya thought. _I suppose that the spirits of ancient Seers must be different from regular spirits_.

            Anaya found her mind drifting as Adora carefully painted her back. Each stroke of the brush cooled the skin beneath it and Anaya felt her muscles unknotting. Finally, Adora stopped her work and set the brushes aside. The spirit stood and retrieved a small crystalline bottle from a cabinet at the front of the room before returning to her position on the stool. She held out the bottle for Anaya’s inspection. A pale silver-white liquid that shimmered with rainbows was inside of the bottle. Adora spoke to her softly, “ _ **This is Serynium. Some called it Fade-lyrium. It can only be found in the deep Fade far past what anchors to the mortal world. It is very rare and very precious. It will help to keep you safe during the trials ahead.**_ ”

            Anaya’s eyes never left the bottle. “ ** _It’s beautiful,_** ” she whispered. She could almost hear it singing. It teased at the edges of her perception.

            Adora nodded. “ ** _That is is._** ” She motioned Anaya back to her position on the bench and Anaya complied.

            “ ** _What do I need to do?_** ” Anya asked.

            Adora’s words were laced with sorrow. “ ** _You must endure. Know that I am sorry, little one._** ” Anaya tried to turn but could not. Magic like iron bands locked her in place. Adora’s voice rose in a chant behind her, but Anaya couldn’t make out the words. More voices joined and Anaya felt the power in the air, magic so heavy it pressed against her skin and left her helpless. She was choking on her panic and nearly shrieked when a stream of cold liquid hit her back. _What? Why was I bound for that? That was_ … Then there was pain. Nothing but pain. Searing, burning, liquid fire, consuming her flesh until she was nothing but ashes. There was no air in her lungs. She didn’t have breath to scream. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, could do nothing but feel the pain crushing her into darkness. She was grateful when that darkness finally closed over her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Review! My Muse is hungry!
> 
> Andrava is the forgotten elvhen goddess of wisdom, intuition, and perception. She was the twin sister of Andruil and the daughter of Mythal and Elgar’nan; Clan Lavellan has long believed that the Seers are the mortal descendants of Andrava, but have kept these beliefs, and the Seers themselves, hidden from other clans. 
> 
> Elvhen Terminology 
> 
> Vallaslin : Lit. “blood writing.” The marks tattooed onto the face of a Dalish youth when they reach the adulthood in honor of his or her favored god. Each elvhen deity had their own unique design.
> 
> Thanks to FenxShiral’s Project Elvhen for increased Elvhen terminology and improving my understanding of the Elvhen language.


	3. Changes Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is AU and completely ignores Trespasser—I’m actively trying to block out that particular DLC. Most of the events will follow the canon storyline, but there will be alterations made and the divergence from canon will increase as the story progresses. Rating may increase in the future. Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks to everyone who has left Kudos and Comments. It means the world to me. 
> 
> The Elvhen terms used in the story come from a mixture of sources including my own fevered imagination. Translations of all Elvhen terms at the bottom. Thanks to FenxShiral’s Project Elvhen for increased Elvhen terminology and improving my understanding of the Elvhen language.
> 
> The use of bolded italics inside of quotation marks indicates that the entirety of what is said is spoken in a language other than the common tongue and has been translated. This language will be ancient Elvhen unless otherwise specified. 
> 
> Dragon Age and all of its splendors belong to Bioware. I gain no financial benefit from this time-consuming hobby.

            When Anaya awakened, her mind was full of stars. She remembered a woman, a feeling of comfort, a voice whispering: “ _ **I’m sorry my daughter, but you must forget. Forget until it is time to remember.**_ ” She blinked away tears. She had lost something, something important, and she must not recall what it was. That loss ached in her chest and pulled a whimper from her lips.

            Adora appeared beside her. Anaya knew that she should fear her, this incomprehensible spirit who had tied her down and tortured her. Instead, she felt relief. She felt the tears track down the side of her temple as she stared into Adora’s familiar eyes. “ _ **There were stars, but they’re slipping away. I…I can’t remember!**_ ” She flinched at the sound of her voice cracking, hating the testament to her weakness.

            Adora sighed and gathered Anaya into her arms. “ ** _I know, little one. I know. It will return when it is time. For now, just know that the goddess came to you. You have her blessing and her favor._** ”

*DAI*DAI*DAI*

            The years passed and Deshanna watched as Anaya grew to fill the role she’d been born to. By the time Anaya was sixteen, Deshanna realized that the girl who had worn the mask of the Seer had become the Seer in truth. She no longer carried her power like a burden to be suffered. It had become a part of her. Deshanna had told Anaya as much and she remembered how the Seer had laughed. _“As impressive as I am, my dear Keeper,” Anaya had said with mock bravado, “even I couldn’t weep forever.”_  

            It was early in the summer of Anaya’s nineteenth year when Clan Lavellan came to edge of the Midras River not far from where the lesser river broke south from the larger Minanter. It was a good place, the hunting was excellent and they were far from any large human settlement. Clan Calahnen was already camped along the banks and the yellow sails of their aravels were welcoming in the distance.

            Anaya had informed them of Calahnen’s location days before and they were well-prepared to meet with the smaller clan. With practiced efficiency, Andrava’s shrine had been packed away and the statutes of the Creators had ben polished and laid ready for placement. The women of Anaya’s family had put their staves into storage and now carried only bows and blades. It certainly wouldn’t do for the other clan to question why more than a dozen Lavellan huntresses and crafters carried mage staves.

            Anaya stood near three of her cousins. As usual for meetings with other clans, she had hidden the strangeness of her eyes with a simple illusion. Deshanna chuckled at the sight. She knew that Anaya thought she looked just like the others with her eyes concealed, just one more figure in a line of near-identical maidens. Nothing could be further from the truth. Anaya wore confidence and authority like a cloak around her shoulders. Even the way she stood marked her as different. _At least she looks happy_ , Deshanna thought. She left the Seer with her cousins and went to find the Keeper of Clan Calahnen.

*DAI*DAI*DAI*

            Anaya waited with her cousins while Deshanna met with the Calahnen Keeper. It was always a relief to meet with another clan. For a brief time, she could lay aside the mantle of Seer be just another young Dalish woman. The illusion that turned her eyes emerald left her indistinguishable from her kin. She was, of course, aware of the irony. Most mages couldn’t even cast a simple illusion without resorting to blood magic. Only the power that came with her eyes allowed her to easily conceal them. _But I can pretend_ , she thought. _I can always pretend._  

            Excitement rippled through the air as they greeted their brethren. It had been more than a year since they’d had the chance to spend any real time with another clan and they hadn’t seen Calahnen since the last Arlathvhen three years prior.

            Anaya flashed a sultry smile at a group of Calahnen’s young hunters. A few smirked back. A few blushed and looked away. One just stared at her with frank admiration. Near-identical the cousins might be, but they were all beautiful. As a child, Anaya hadn’t realized that her family’s distinctive copper hair and sculpted features were rare and prized. Now, she was well aware of that fact. “Several of them look promising,” she whispered.

            Krista and Issi nodded in acknowledgement while casting speculative looks at the hunters. “I want that blushing, silver-haired one. He is too pretty,” Issi purred. Krista just smirked at them. She was already enamored of a Lavellan hunter and everyone assumed they’d be bonded soon enough. Still, Krista was always happy to encourage her younger cousins.  

            Brianna’s cheeks turned pink and she giggled behind her hand. “You are all so bad! Do you think of nothing else?”

            Krista rolled her eyes. “Stop being such a prude, Bri.”

            Anaya reached up and gave Brianna’s shoulder a light squeeze. “Dearest cousin, I, for one, think of everything else all year. I’ll take my joy when I can.”

            Brianna flushed even brighter. “Ir abelas, Anaya! I’d didn’t mean anything by it.”

            Anaya nodded and grinned at her ever-awkward cousin. “I love you even when you don’t think.” Brianna rewarded her with a cheerful smile. All of Anaya’s older cousins were sympathetic of the difficulties that came with her position. She would likely never have a lover from Clan Lavellan. To the young men of their clan, the Seer was a figure of awe and reverence, not someone to hide in the bushes with for a quick tumble.

            Before Anaya could embarrass her meekest cousin further, a bright-haired bundle of energy darted to the group and attached herself to Anaya’s leg. “Asa’ma’lin! Did you see? They have a dog!”

            Anaya looked down at her baby sister with an affectionate smile. Nadia had been born just over a year after Nadahla’s passing and was named in honor of her. “Really? What kind of dog?”

            “A mabari! They found him when he was little and injured and now he helps guard the clan. They let me pet him! Come and see.” Nadia trembled with excitement, eager to share her discovery with her elder sister.

            Anaya was surprised at that. It was rare to see a mabari so far from Ferelden and rarer still to see one not in human hands. “That’s wonderful, da’len. I’ve never seen a mabari up close before. Lead the way, ma’da’hale.” Anaya promised to meet with her cousins after dinner and then allowed Nadia to drag her off to see the wondrous mabari.

*DAI*DAI*DAI*

            Deshanna sat with Calahnen’s Keeper, Vallan, in the shade of his aravel. He had been First when last she saw him and was still young, but his face was serious and his eyes showed more wisdom than most. They spoke of the events of the past three years, shared news of other clans, offered warnings of dangers they had discovered. A bright laugh broke into their discussion and they looked up to see Anaya being pulled behind her tiny sister. The little girl was talking excitedly, something about Calahnen’s mabari, and Anaya followed with an indulgent smile. A faint smile touched Vallan’s lips as he watched the sisters. As the pair vanished behind some aravels, he turned back to Deshanna. “Deshanna, I must ask…?”

            Deshanna chuckled. _His predecessor must not have told him the story then_. “Curious about my copper-haired clanswomen? In that case, I take it you have yet to bond,” she teased. Vellan blushed and stammered until she took mercy on him. “Or are you more curious about their distinctive markings?”   

            Vallan nodded sheepishly. “Their markings…I’ve never seen anything like them.”

            Deshanna fell into the rhythm of the story easily, the familiar blend of fiction and truth that Clan Lavellan had developed over centuries. “Nor will you outside of Lavellan. They are called the Daughters of Andrava. She was a mage of staggering power and uncommon wisdom. Her presence was a great blessing to the clan. She was a Dreamer and often wandered the Fade in her search for knowledge that might aid us.”

            Vallan’s eyes widened. Dreamers were rare and their powers were long lost to the Dalish.

            Deshanna nodded at him before continuing, “When she came of age she refused to choose the vallaslin of any god. Instead she created a spell that burned marks like the ones her descendants carry into her skin. Andrava said that she knew from her travels in the Fade just how much we had lost of our history. She found echoes there. Proof, she claimed, there were forgotten gods, Creators whose names we no longer remembered. She created her markings to honor them. In the beginning, she was mocked for it and demoted to Second for her rebellion. But things changed for Clan Lavellan after that day. Fortune began to smile on us. In time, every one of her kin came to believe in her and to share her faith.”

            “But that doesn’t explain…”

            Deshanna cut him off with a laugh. “Patience, Vallan,” she mock-scolded. “There is more.”

            Vallan stilled himself into a posture of calm, but burning curiosity was still plain on his face. “Ir abelas, Deshanna. Please continue.”

            Deshanna gave him a stern look that didn’t quite hide her amusement before continuing. “Andrava feared that the years would once more erode our memories. She believed that after she was lost to us, we would forget to honor the Unknown Creators and that we would lose their favor. When she finally bonded and grew heavy with child, she created a spell far more powerful than the one that had marked her own face. Andrava swore that every daughter of her blood would bear the same markings she did so that Lavellan would never forget to honor those whose names are lost to time. Thanks to those marks, we have not forgotten, and so, we are still fortunate.”

            Vallan looked down, clearly deep in thought. “Perhaps I should honor the Unknown Creators when I say my own prayers.”

            Deshanna offered no reply save a smile.

*DAI*DAI*DAI*

            They had spent two weeks with Calahnen before parting ways. Anaya was pleased. She had a pleasurable enough dalliance with the arrogant hunter that had admired her on that first day and returned to her duties feeling less burdened than she had in a year. She could tell that he had no interest in settling down and she didn’t want to leave hurt feelings behind her. He had been a good choice. There was no time wasted on a clumsy courtship. He expressed his interest and she reciprocated, uncomplicated and easy. He had skill that spoke of experience. _Lots of experience_. No doubt he’d left a string of devastated maidens behind him from when he’d met with other clans.

            There had been only one unfortunate moment between them, but it only made her more certain in her choice. If she hadn’t occupied his time, one of the other Lavellan maiden may have fallen prey to his wiles. After their last time together, he’d spoken of regrets and duties and of his hope that they’d meet again. _He thinks I’m in love with him!_ Anaya had realized. Her laughter had cut off his practiced words. “Oh, my dear hunter. You and I both know what this was. You have your clan and I have mine. It’s been lovely, but I part from you with no regrets.”

            He’d been startled by her words, shocked even, and his face contorted with anger. She’d expected him to be relieved, not enraged. “Surely you must have felt something! You can’t possibly be so cold-hearted,” he blurted out, offense clear in his gaze. Then his tone turned soothing, “You don’t have to hide how you feel from me, bright eyes.”

            That was when she realized why he was upset: she wasn’t weeping and begging him to stay with her. _So he’s angry that my heart was no more involved than his own_ , she thought. _That must be part of his game. The conquest doesn’t count if he doesn’t win another broken heart for his collection._ She smiled up at him. “My dear hunter, I have truly enjoyed my time with you, but there is nothing deeper between us. I thought you knew that. Truthfully, I don’t even recall your name.” With those words, she sauntered off. Anaya was rarely cruel, but the idea that he had hurt other women intentionally angered her and she regretted nothing.

*DAI*DAI*DAI*

            Anaya was twenty-one when the news came. They had stopped at Kalshire, a small village near Ostwick, to trade for supplies as they had many times before. This time the locals warned them to turn back east. _Kirkwall is in ruins_ , they explained. _The Kirkwall Chantry exploded. An apostate mage is to blame._ The specific accounts varied. Some said that the mage was possessed. Others called him insane. It mattered little. Refugees were pouring out of Kirkwall and tension ran through the air like the promise of a coming storm. Deshanna turned to the Seer for guidance and expressed her hope that the conflict would end quickly. The expression on Anaya’s face told Deshanna that her hopes were futile. That serene mask never meant good news. Clan Lavellan moved closer to the mountains and avoided large human settlements.

            They met with other clans rarely and the few meetings they had were soured by the threat that hung over the whole of the Free Marches. Deshanna sent hunters to the smaller villages to gather news when one was nearby. It was never good tidings. The mages had revolted at the White Spire. The Circles were disbanded. The Nevarran Accord was broken. The mages and the Templars were at war.

            No one was safe. Other clans had already lost people to the conflict. Templars attacked some clans just because they had mages. No one knew why the mages attacked. They saw fear in the eyes of almost everyone they encountered, elf and human alike. Lavellan was spared from most of it. Anaya’s Sight was even stronger than her predecessor’s had been and they were never truly in danger.

            Once more, they came near Kalshire. It had been years since they had come so far west, so close to large settlements. The fighting had moved south by then and the Seer deemed it safe. It was there that they learned that the Divine had called a Conclave to try and end the war. That night Deshanna prayed to Andrava before she slept, prayed that the shemlen Chantry could end the madness it had begun.

            The scream cut into Deshanna’s dreams and ripped her from sleep. She stumbled from her aravel, searching for the source of the disturbance. Anaya stood in the center of camp. Issi was already by her side, asking “What’s wrong? Is there danger?”

            Anaya shook her head, her face expressionless. She motioned Deshanna over. “There is no immediate threat. I will speak to everyone at once. It will be easier.”

            Deshanna nodded and waited for the clan to gather.

            The moons hung high over the land by the time Anaya spoke. “I have Seen what the future holds,” her voice was strong and clear. “Changes come. I must go to the Conclave.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Review! My Muse is hungry!
> 
> Andrava is the forgotten Elvhen goddess of wisdom, intuition, and perception. She was the twin sister of Andruil and the daughter of Mythal and Elgar’nan; Clan Lavellan has long believed that the Seers are the mortal descendants of Andrava, but have kept these beliefs, and the Seers themselves, hidden from other clans. 
> 
> Elvhen Terminology
> 
> Ir abelas : I am (sorry/full of sorrow).
> 
> Asa’ma’lin : Sister.
> 
> Da’len : Literally means “little person” or “little one.” Used to mean “child.”
> 
> Ma’da’hale : “My little fox.” Used by Anaya as a term of endearment to her baby sister.
> 
> Shemlen: Quick child/children. Used as a derogatory term for humans by many modern elves.


	4. Chapter 4: Wake the Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is AU and completely ignores Trespasser—I’m actively trying to block out that particular DLC. Most of the events will follow the canon storyline, but there will be alterations made and the divergence from canon will increase as the story progresses. Rating may increase in the future. Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks to everyone who has Favorited, Followed, or left Feedback. It means the world to me. 
> 
> The Elvhen terms used in the story come from a mixture of sources including my own fevered imagination. Translations of all Elvhen terms at the bottom. Thanks to FenxShiral’s Project Elvhen for increased Elvhen terminology and improving my understanding of the Elvhen language.
> 
> The use of bolded italics inside of quotation marks indicates that the entirety of what is said is spoken in a language other than the common tongue and has been translated. This language will be ancient Elvhen unless otherwise specified.
> 
> Dragon Age and all of its splendors belong to Bioware. I gain no financial benefit from this hobby.

 

            Nothing had gone according to plan. From the moment Fen’Harel had awoken into this blighted, broken world, failure haunted his every step. The People were no more. In his desperate ploy to save them, he’d been the instrument of their destruction. Only tragic echoes of them remained: desolate ruins; stolen bits of spellcraft; and worst of all, the frail, weak things that the Common tongue called ‘elves.’ They weren’t even a race of mages anymore. The legacy of his victory was a world filled by Tranquil—creatures so severed from the Fade that they’d forgotten their own souls.

            From behind a mask of lies, Fen’Harel walked briefly amongst those poor shadows, trying to discern a means by which to save them. The elves that dwelt in the city were no more than frightened prey, bowing and scraping before human masters as surely as their ancestors had bowed before the Evanuris. The arrogant elves of the wilds were even worse. The Dalish clung to their false history like frightened children clung to a parent. They proclaimed themselves free, but branded their own faces with slave markings. They were all lost, beyond salvation. He walked away and didn’t look back.

            Fen’Harel had failed them, those he meant to save. They would have been better off living for eternity as slaves to his brethren. At least they would still have been Elvhen. He knew his duty. In his hubris, he’d broken the world and the People. It was left to him to repair the damage he’d caused. He found his way to a familiar place, to the ruins of what had once been a small shrine to Mythal. There was little left of it now. Vines cracked the stone as they grasped for sunlight. Time had worn away the murals that once honored his friend. Mythal’s great statue at the shrine’s center laid on its side on the mossy ground, one wing broken away.

            As Fen’Harel remembered, the hidden door was in an alcove behind the central statue. The intricate, tree-shaped mosaic that concealed the door was undamaged. It was the one perfect thing he had seen in this place. He bowed his head and whispered the words, “Mythal’esan samahl.” The door slid open with a low groan. The magic had been weakened by the passage of millennia, but it still held true. Fen’Harel slipped into Mythal’s sanctuary, one of the many she’d granted him access to over the years.

*DAI*DAI*DAI*

            Fen’Harel grimaced in frustration. He knew that his many years in uthenera had weakened him, but he couldn’t even unlock his orb. He’d been unable claim his proper form in the waking world. When Fen’Harel tried to shift, he found that he could transform only into an ordinary wolf. Anything more was beyond him. Even so, he’d never imagined this. _This was not meant to happen_. He could imagine Andruil mocking him: _“ **Where is the fearsome Dread Wolf now? The Master of the Fade can’t even open his own orb!** ” _Disgusted, he dropped the orb into his lap and rubbed his hands down his face. Clearly he would have to find another way to access the power. He couldn’t correct his mistakes without it.

            Fen’Harel bent forward, his elbows on his knees and his forehead resting on his hands. He tried to think of other ways to open it. A stray braid fell over his shoulder and dropped into his line of sight. He glared at it, the symbol of his vast ego. The Dread Wolf was known for his long, auburn braids. The carved bone beads that dotted them were trophies, tokens of his countless victories in combat. His rivals always stared warily at those beads, knowing well what they represented. He had been _proud_ of them, delighted by his own prowess. Fen’Harel snarled and pulled a knife from his boot. _That’s all I am_ , he thought, _misguided pride. Arrogant enough to think I have the right to change the world and strength enough to do it._

            Later, he sat in the tatters of his shorn braids. He ran his fingers across his newly-bare skull and sighed. He had a plan. Not a good one, in truth, but the best he could think of in this unfamiliar world. _I must repair that which pride hath wrought_. Solas stood and left the shrine in search of answers.

*DAI*DAI*DAI*

            Solas was near Haven when the Conclave exploded. He watched in horror as the sky tore asunder, as the Veil was shredded by violent, misspent power. _His_ power. That Tevene abomination had painted the heavens with a promise of destruction and it was _his_ fault. _What have I done?_ He didn’t know how to fix this, how to undo this atrocity. He wished he knew to whom a false god should pray. He wanted to scream, to weep, to lash out with all the power remaining in his weakened frame. Instead, he fell to his knees on the snowy ground, eyes locked on the Breach.

            Solas had known there would be an explosion when the orb opened. An explosion which should have killed the abomination and left the orb his for the taking. He’d assumed that it would happen somewhere remote and unnoticed, somewhere a darkspawn magister could work his twisted magic without rousing attention. When he first discovered Corypheus’s destination he’d tried to hold on to the vain hope that the darkspawn wouldn’t attempt the opening there. He hadn’t truly been able to make himself believe it. Tevene magisters loved their blood magic and the Conclave would provide a wealth of sacrifices, sacrifices that would give Corypheus the power to open the orb.

            That possibility had been horror enough. But this…this was beyond Solas’s imagining. Used properly, his orb could have easily opened a gate into the Fade, a doorway permitting free passage back and forth. The Breach was no gate. It ripped unwilling spirits into the physical world, twisting their natures, and leaving demons in its wake. In the back of his mind, Solas could hear their screams as they fought against its pull. The spirits not trapped by the Breach’s fell power had fled the area. For that small mercy, he was grateful.

            _I don’t know how to fix this_. The thought curled through his mind, leaving desperation in its path. The snow he knelt in was painted emerald by the Breach’s light. He threw back his head and howled his anguish to the broken sky. The mountain wolves howled with him in a symphony of despair.

            After several shaking breaths, Solas heaved himself to his feet and turned them towards Haven. He would join the humans there and provide what help he could. It was all he knew to do.

*DAI*DAI*DAI*

            Rumors flew through Haven like startled birds. They claimed that the prisoner had fallen from the Fade, whispered that her left hand glowed with the Breach’s unholy light. Solas listened silently and avoided attention. He overheard one of the guards who’d found her after she tumbled from the rift: “She was dressed like one of them wild Dalish, but she ain’t got those weird tattoos.” _Odd_ , he thought. Then again, everything he heard about this prisoner was. The guard went on to tell his fellows that the Seeker hadn’t been able to question the prisoner. The woman was unconscious. The healers said she was dying and they didn’t know why or how to stop it. _Her hand…_ If she’d been marked by his power… Solas knew that he needed to see this prisoner for himself.      

            The Seeker took convincing before she relented. She didn’t trust Solas and he couldn’t fault her for it. He presented himself as a humble apostate, an expert on the Fade, come to hear the decisions of the Conclave. He could see the doubt in her eyes, but he saw more desperation. She needed the prisoner alive and coherent for questioning and her own people weren’t up to the task. Finally, she ordered the guards to grant him access. “You have your chance. If she dies, I’ll execute you as an apostate,” she vowed, her dark eyes flashing warning.

            Solas nodded his understanding. His face was an expressionless mask. “Of course, Seeker.” He allowed the guards to lead him into the building and down a damp stone staircase into the Undercroft of their Chantry. He could feel the ancient power thrumming in the stale air. He could sense part of his own power, but there was something else here as well. Something old and familiar, like the forgotten words of childhood lullaby.

            The guards led him to an isolated cell lit only by the flickering light of a single torch. There, they left him with instructions to inform the Seeker if there was any change. A huddled figure lay on a cot at the cell’s center, swathed in moth-eaten, woolen blankets. Solas saw cascading copper waves tumbling out from beneath the rotted fabric on one side. It was a rare shade, one he hadn’t seen since the days Arlathan.

            Ancient magic pressed against him as he approached and drew back the blankets to better see the prisoner. Solas gasped as the light fell over her face. _Andruil? But how…_ He shook his head and looked closer. _No. This is not the Huntress escaped from her prison._ This maiden’s face had a softness to it, a delicate beauty that Andruil’s visage had never possessed. Even so, the resemblance was…disconcerting. Not Andruil perhaps, but this girl could have been her daughter. _Who are you?_ he wondered. Since his awakening, he had seen so many of the so-called ‘elves’ of this unfortunate age. They were _NOT_ of the People. None of his race would ever mistake a modern elf for such. He was still surprised that they couldn’t tell the difference and took him for one of their own. But this maiden, she…she could have been Elvhen. He would have believed her to be some remnant, one of the People displaced in time by the Rift, or an awakened survivor like himself, except for the fact that she was young. Not simply youthful as his people always were, but truly young.   

            The girl whimpered as his power crackled angrily in her left palm. He felt another pulse of magic answering his own, warring against it. _What is that?_ Solas could feel this second power resonating from the girl’s spine and arcing through her trembling form. He leaned forward and pulled the fabric of her tunic away from her back, his eyes searching for the source. For a moment, it was as though time had stopped. He stared at it, frozen by the sight. The sigil etched into her pale flesh began at the base of her neck and continued down past where his eyes could see. The design was seamless, the Serynium merged with her skin as though she entered the world with it already in place.

            _This. Isn’t. Possible._ His thoughts denied what his eyes told him. _How could I get this close without noticing it?_ Even at the height of Arlthan’s power, Serynium was rare and precious. Any mage should be able to hear its song. He, who had once earned countless favors by retrieving it from the depths of the Fade, should have been able hear it from far beyond the Chantry walls. _Of course,_ he thought, _I did feel something, but only faintly, and it was unrecognizable._

            The sigil itself was a masterpiece of Elvhen design. Solas could discern that it was meant to offer its bearer protection…and to hide itself. _Ah…_ he thought. _That’s why I didn’t sense it sooner._ He was certain that it had more functions, but without further study, their nature was unclear. Besides, this piece was far beyond his understanding of sigils. He had been considered more than competent in such magics, but they weren’t his area of expertise. He’d always favored action and lacked the patience needed to truly master that precise art.

            In his youth, he’d seen sigils of dazzling complexity—intricate pieces that held awe-inspiring power and took centuries to create. This piece was beyond all of them. In Arlathan, the master who created this sigil could have presented it as proof of their right to Ascend and take their place amongst the Evanuris. And the way it was crafted…a memory tugged at his mind. He was certain he’d seen something like it before, not the design, but the way it was made: Serynium merged seamlessly into skin. He tried to remember, but the knowledge eluded him.

            The girl whimpered as the warring powers raged through her again. At least he now knew what was killing her. The sigil’s magic was attempting to drive out the foreign power of his Mark and it was tearing her asunder from within. He grasped her left hand and reached for his Mark. The power welcomed him, twinning around his aura joyfully. He pulled at it, attempting to transfer it to himself to no avail. The girl keened in agony as his power snapped back into her. Solas bowed his head in resignation. There was no use. For now at least, his Mark was a part of her, anchored as tightly as one of her limbs.

            Solas growled and ran his hands down his face. There had to be some solution to this. Her body couldn’t survive the conflicting magics for much longer. That she lived at all was a testament to her strength. His thoughts were in turmoil as he gazed at her face, lovely even in her agony. He _NEEDED_ her to live. He had to preserve his Mark until he could find a way to reclaim it. Besides, he needed answers. If there were still Elvhen living in this world, Elvhen in command of this sort of skill and power, he needed to find them. He would have to be cautious though. He had no way of knowing what they knew or whom they served. They could be loyalists to the other Evanuris who sought to free their masters as easily as they could be his people. He shook his head. None of his plotting would aid him if the girl died in this filthy dungeon.     

            If his Mark had less raw energy running through it, then the different magics inside of her might reach a working equilibrium, at least temporarily. It was far from a perfect solution, but it could buy him time to find a more permanent answer. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the strength currently to drain the energy off by himself. Weakened as he was, he had spent too much of his limited power trying to reclaim his Mark. Moreover, he doubted that she would survive for the hours it would take for his reserves to replenish. If another mage were to assist him, it might be feasible, but that wasn’t an acceptable risk. If another mage saw the sigil, or questioned his knowledge of it, the cost could be far too high.

            _The sigil,_ Solas realized. _It’s Serynium-forged._ Serynium was _MORE_ than lyrium, after all. It might not be sentient exactly, but it absorbed its crafter’s intent. That very quality is what made it so dangerous to work with and was why multiple mages could never perform such a working together. A single stray thought, a moment of hesitation or doubt, any slip of focus could ruin the working and twist its purpose. _But a true master crafted this,_ he reasoned. _They would not have faltered._

            Solas placed one hand flat on her back and grasped her Marked palm with the other. He projected his intent towards the sigil in a flow of emotions and images. _Protect,_ he told it. _Push the energy into me to save the girl._

            Solas could feel its attention focus on him. Slow. Considering. He continued to show it images of his plan. It hadn’t been able to rid her of the invading power because there was no place for the power to go. He could give it an outlet, a way to rid her of it. Finally, the sigil responded and Solas sighed with relief at its agreement. The sigil’s power began pushing the foreign energy through the Mark and into him. He drew it into himself eagerly. As he absorbed the last of the excess power, the girl relaxed, drifting from unconsciousness into true sleep.

            Solas projected his gratitude towards the sigil as he pulled away. The girl would live. He had time to seek the answers he needed.  

            As the returned power settled into him, Fen’Harel’s lips curved into a wolfish smile. He was still only a shadow of what he had once been, but the power he’d absorbed had restored him immensely. For the first time since he awakened, he felt like himself. The beast that lived within him stretched as it rose from its long slumber and blinked the sleep from its burning eyes. For now, it was enough. For now, he would remain Solas and play the part of the humble, helpful apostate. After all, the mask he wore was of no consequence. For the first time in millennia, the Dread Wolf once more walked the world.           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Review! My Muse is hungry!
> 
> Andrava is the forgotten Elvhen goddess of wisdom, intuition, and perception. She was the twin sister of Andruil and the daughter of Mythal and Elgar’nan; Clan Lavellan has long believed that the Seers are the mortal descendants of Andrava, but have kept these beliefs, and the Seers themselves, hidden from other clans. 
> 
> Elvhen Terminology
> 
> Evanuris: The Elvhen pantheon. Called ‘the Creators’ by many modern elves, especially the Dalish.
> 
> Mythal’esan samahl: “Mythal’s laughter.”
> 
> Uthenera: Literally translates as “long sleep” or “endless dream.” The slumber-like state that ancient Elvhen elders would enter into when they wearied of life. Their bodies would remain in this sleep-like state while their spirits wandered the Fade. The uthenera did not equate with death as many elders would awaken centuries later. However, some failed to return and their bodies died in truth.


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